Mystery
by Persephone Oswald Oleesen
Summary: The biggest mystery for Gregory House at 1 o' clock on a Saturday night is not medical. It's the question of who he's sleeping with. H x Someone, rated T and up.


Name: Mystery

Pairing: House x ???

Description: The biggest mystery for Gregory House at 1 o' clock on a Saturday night is not medical. It's the question of who he's sleeping with. H x Someone

This occurs sometime during Season Four. The only changes I made to the original storyline is the fact that when Cameron came back her hair was not blond. I love her as a blond—it's so cute, but I needed to make that tiny change to make this story work.

**_EDIT_**: I have (finally) proofread this. Please don't hesitate to tell me if I have anything else wrong. I'd love to hear from you. ^_^

Disclaimer: I don't own House. Sweet and to the point. **_NOW READ_**.

* * *

Okay, you know she knows you, because she said your name when she first walked up to the bar. You, renowned Doctor House, with your busy lifestyle—one case a week, hanging out with Wilson and/or drugged out of your mind the rest of the time—don't have much time for a social life, so the only women you really know are those you work with. You also dimly remember her brown hair glistening in the dim light and that pretty much singles the women in his life down from blonde nurses and redheaded Debbies in Accounting to the hospital admin, your ex-female fellow and your current female fellow.

… Of course, it could also be one of the guys in a wig, but this girl is a little too white to be Foreman and Chase wouldn't want to ruin his perfect hair with a wig. Taub's too short and Kutner's too thick.

Wilson would do it, though. He's probably the only guy who could get away with it.

Still, it is very good to know that Mystery Girl does have breasts. You know—you felt them and everything. It would have been difficult to simulate those for everyone except the plastic surgeon, but once again, Taub was too short. He wouldn't think of undertaking such a tremendous feat as seducing his six foot boss.

Now you sit on your large bed, Mystery Girl wrapped around your middle. You remember very little about the night after you left the bar—all you know is you asked her to come in and she had. It had all gone south from there—you remember kissing her as you pressed her against the doorframe, remember her biting your shoulder as you slowly make your way to your bedroom. You are kissing her deeply as she perches on your lap, exploring her mouth in its entirety as you attempt to figure out which one of your coworkers you're making out with. You know you shouldn't let her get too close, but the alcohol has inhibited your judgment—a lame excuse, you know, but you are just so amused by the thought of one of the women you work with finally falling prey to your manly charms. She wouldn't be the first one.

Suddenly, Mystery Girl's fingernails dig into your spine as you gently nibble her collarbone.

Ouch. Okay, that was definitely not ladylike. You scratch Cameron off your mental list for the moment as you trail kisses along Jane Doe's neck, searching for her lips again. They're already swollen, and as you seal your own around hers you hear her breath catch.

_Cute_. Bring Cameron back.

Your hands wander over her lithe form like elves frolicking in an enchanted forest, getting no answers but enjoying it anyway. All three women had similar body types, so you'll find nothing out about Jane Doe this way. Nonetheless, you grin as you slide your hands from her back to her breasts, cupping them both and causing Mystery Girl to gasp. Her breasts aren't as ample as you had hoped, but they were okay. None of the women he worked with had the biggest jugs in the world, anyway.

As she kisses you, Jane Doe grinds into your throbbing groin. Almost instantly, fire—and not the good kind—flares up in your right leg, and you can't help gasping in pain. You hope Mystery Girl will just write it off as a result of fiery passion, but to your chagrin she pulls away from you.

"House, y-your leg—"

Damn it. Her voice is barely a whisper. You're unable to distinguish Jane Doe's identity, especially since the combination of her sweet breath on your face and your aching leg muddle your thoughts. You are sure if she hadn't responded as eagerly to your kiss as she had your brain wouldn't be swimming now.

"It's fine," you gasp, leaning forward and catching her lips once again, pushing your tongue through her teeth roughly as you search for the clasp of her bra. You know you're letting it get a little too far, but this is just too entertaining. Your biggest weakness has always been mysteries, and just because this one isn't medical doesn't mean it isn't exciting.

"B-but—"

Another whisper. "I said, it's fine," you reply, and to prove your point you burrow your hands underneath her thighs and lift her off of your lap. As she squeals, you put all your strength into flipping the two of you over so that she is underneath you, lying with her legs wrapped around your middle. Your left leg is propped up on the bed and your right is hanging off the edge, still throbbing but not a priority. You loaded up on Vicodin and tequila… and bourbon, and rum, and whatever other alcoholic beverage the barkeep had earlier and you're focused enough on the mystery underneath you that the pain that isn't blocked by your buzz is practically nonexistent. The infarction is little more than a mosquito in your ear as you let your tongue glide across her thin stomach. Her hands knot in your hair and you cross Cameron off the list again. She's too caring to willingly hurt _you_, even in the throes of passion.

Suddenly you are hit with an idea. You reach up with your left hand—your right is busy propping you up—and you run your fingers through Mystery Girl's hair. It's soft, long and very, very straight. That pretty much crosses Cuddy off the list as well, since that woman had curls like… Well, you can't really think right now, because Jane Doe's hands are wandering closer and closer to a certain pulsating area of your body. That leaves Thirteen, and while you are surprised that she would be the one sneaking into your bed you aren't overly unsatisfied. You are just disappointed that she couldn't have revealed herself earlier so that you could call up another unsuspecting halfie.

After all, threesomes were _sooo_ much more interesting.

"House, get up."

"Hah?"

"C'mon, stand up."

You sigh. And it was getting so exciting, too. Figures Thirteen would be too chicken to go all the way. You ease off of the not-so-mystery-anymore, leaving a single, tantalizing—you hope—kiss on her neck as you stand. You begin to turn, planning on flipping the light switch so you'd have undeniable proof. After all, what better leverage against a coworker is there than knowing they attempted to seduce you and then chickened out? At least when Cameron kissed you she put everything she could into it. Before you can turn around however, Mystery Girl begins to unbuckle your belt.

"What are you doing?" You ask, fighting to keep your voice steady as she works. Her thin hands lightly brush your groin as she takes your belt off and she is steadily kissing the skin around your bellybutton, her breath warm and fast against your stomach.

"D'you really think you're gonna be able to take them off yourself?" Her words came in a pant in-between kisses, still too breathy and light to distinguish. "Just hang on; I'm working as fast as I can."

You stand as still as you can on your gimp leg, confused and surprised as she finally unlatches your belt. You don't think Thirteen would be as gentle as Mystery Girl is being as she slowly peels off your jeans. You shudder as the waist of your jeans reach the hollow in your leg and you wince, preparing yourself for the pain you know is coming. Yet, you don't feel anything but Jane Doe's breath on your knees as she pulls your jeans the rest of the way down. When they are around your ankles you shakily step out of them, nudging them away with your bad leg. Your heart is pounding faster than it was before, and you quickly gather the three people on your list once again. This new development has got you questioning every choice you've made up to that point. Lisa Cuddy, Allison Cameron or Remy Hadley. The names spin around in your mind, buzzing about your head like bees circling a flower. It blows your mind when Mystery Girl plants a so-light-its-barely-even-there kiss on your thigh, right above the hollow.

Why is she being so gentle? You try to gather your thoughts as her lips rest on your leg, warm breath raising goose bumps all over your body. You can swear you remember Cuddy being much rougher than this when you were younger and Thirteen doesn't seem like the tender type under covers. Your thoughts are interrupted as you hear your bed squeak, and suddenly the rough outline of Mystery Girl is standing before you, nearly a head shorter. You remember this stature, but you can't quite place it as she reaches up and brushes your cheek with the back of her hand.

_That _gesture is definitely familiar. As you stare at what you think is Mystery Girl's face, you wonder how it would feel to have her lips on yours. Even though your mouths have been stuck together for most of the evening, you have a strange hunch that she will taste different somehow. Reaching out, you brush back her tangled hair away from her face, hoping to get a better look at her features. Nothing.

Oh well.

You lean down, capturing her lips in another kiss. This time you taste the difference, and you wonder how you hadn't realized sooner. You're slightly annoyed that you had to anticipate the difference to truly experience it, but then again, as the woman gently turns you around so that your back is to the bed, you're not too miffed. As she pushes you down onto the sheets, still kissing you, you don't really mind. As she strips you of your boxers, you decide that you'd rather have it this way.

Later, after she had rode you into the sunset—you love your sense of humor—you're spent, nearly dozing as you lay with your arms wrapped around her middle. She's turned toward you, sleeping with her face burrowed into your chest. You are irrationally calmed by the feeling of her chest rising and falling underneath your arms. Against your pride and better judgment you pull her closer, putting your lips against the top of her head.

To your surprise, she giggles.

"I love you, House."

You have heard that phrase before. Multiple times Stacy recited that line on cue, and, more recently, the occasional hooker would spout the expression during afterglow. Nonetheless, you have never heard a woman say those words with such pure honesty, not Stacy nor any of the other girls you've ever been with. You smile as you kiss her forehead again, pulling her even closer.

Allison Cameron.

You should have known.

* * *

Whaddaya think??


End file.
